#tweny five

[oh-hools]

seeing time markers on posts appended with 2024 is scary

[wolfythewitch]

Sometimes I draw joseph older lookin because I like drawing old men it gives them flavor but I genuinely think he really was not that old, like mid twenties or something

[potatoesandsunshine]

we really live in an era where you put twenty bucks of gas in the car and it does not move the needle at all 😠😠😠

[meilarchives]

MEILANI LOVESHORE ( better cr intro )

( 🐰ꪆৎ ) MEILANI LIANNE LOVESHORE is a lover off all things pink, fluffy, and flowery! in her graduating year of highschool, mei knows exactly what she want's to do with her life and who she want's to spend it with. her friends would describe her as a breath of fresh air, a cool breeze on a boiling hot day, and in return she would gives them a kiss on the cheek and buy them an ice pop!

‎‎‎‎‎( 📌 ) two thousand tweny five // brisbane, queensland

‎meilani loveshore was born as a twin on february fourteenth, two thousand and seven on the sunshine coast. soon after her and her brother were born, the family relocated to the city of brisbane where they've lived ever since. though not particularly popular in her city, meilani likes to think she has connections everywhere.

( ꪆৎ ) meilani x hugh . bunny x dobermann

a pathetically hopeless romantic and her stoic boyfriend. of course when meilani went over to her best friend's house for the first time after he had been adopted by her family, her little eight year old heart had immediately fallen for his shaggy hair and too-sunken eyes. after tip-toeing around eachother for the next 7 years, they finally acknowledged their romantic attraction in two thousand and twenty two, and have been together ever since.

ʚɞ i love this reality sm any chance to talk about it i will

IB: @laylasverse

[nightmareworks]

hi i've been working on a werewolf the forsaken character and here's all the drabbles i've done about her

Missy McCoy looks maybe tweny-five, somewhere thereabouts, and maybe five foot eight on a good day. She's got boots stained with mud and worse, her jeans are as beat to hell as the biker jacket she's got, a tank top hangs loose underneath. Missy's got this smile she's famous for, rarely takes it off, a wide razor-blade grin that dances back and forth from friendly to fiendish depending on the glitter in her green eyes. Talks with a drawl, thick and from somewhere deep in the American south. Taking her all together, adding the guitar across her back, she looks like a fairly put together version of many an itinerant musician that roam about America with a dream and probably a half-dead liver (Hers is fine, by the by). 'Jesus, the girl knows a lot of murder ballads.' is the most common review of Missy's performance in dingy bars and run-down roadhouses. The pounding of her stomps in lieu of drums, the twang of the guitar, the howling croon of her voice- it has an effect on people. Especially when her specialty is digging up old folk-songs about monsters and murders and cannibals, and tying them to more recent events, a layered story of tragedy and blood. Every song is a warning, about what comes when one trespasses past where men were meant to stand. Missy don't care one way or the other what lessons people take from her music, its goal is not so much to educate, as to foreshadow the deaths that follow in her wake.

Now you meet Missy in the woods, you see that well-toned woman and her razor-blade smile. She tells you that you ain't meant to be here, that this ain't no place for men. There's only monsters. Think to yourself maybe she's just some drunk who followed you from the bar, out to this dark and primeval stretch of loblolly pines outside of Hattiesburg. And you're gonna cuss her out, pick a fight-

And then her smile keeps getting wider. You can hear the bones creak and snap and grind together in her body, hear the tendons snap like rubber-bands and the tearing sounds of muscle wriggling free from its mooring. See her open up her mouth, the muzzle of some great beast forcing its way between her lips. Her skin near explodes from the forces at work on it, long strips of bloody flesh bursting against the muscle and bone that build up the prodigious size of the beast, matting the fur with her own blood. A canine nightmare bays for your soul, wearing its own shed skin like fluttering ribbons, stalking forward with talons at the ready. Hands flex. Teeth clack. The Hunt begins.

[eccyesis]

im losing eggs here im turning,TWENY FIVE .. ovum account hemmorhage..

[beetlebongos]

tweny tweny five

[katsdoodles]

No way is that Miss Akiyama from tweny five at nightcore...

[virgincognito]

thinking abt the time in hs when we just came back from spring break and my teacher asks us what was our phone screentime just as pre class banter and ppl where like “omg mine was FOUR hours 😭” “mine was FIVE HOURS 😭 omg im so bad!!!” and i was the new quiet shy kid but i was genuinely trying my best to break out of my shell so i tell them my screen time and its was (to be fair…it was 2017 black spam ig it was LIT im sorry! and i had to be the only kid who’s parents, well single mom,couldnt afford to vacation so i lived vicariously through tiktok/ig) “THIRTEEN HOURS AND TWENY FIVE MINUTES 😭🤚🏾”and everyone just sat in silence for a like minute and prof started the lesson

[yaysheppy]

50 star trek books. tweny five dolar. thank uou good will i love you good will

[ferrunough]

✈ - an eye-opening memory

[At the main list of files, you open a different folder and click through a few subfolders until you decide on “i didn’t fuck up (sub)”.]

[Threat of injury, actual injury, violence, blood, and swearing are included.]

They’re walking through Spikemuth’s streets at night. Their left hand is carrying a bag of kibble, their right in their trouser pocket.

“… ow’d I mess up tha bad… four undred, seven tweny five, this i four fifty… eigh and seven… shit, an the li’ls.” (How’d I mess up that bad… four hundred, seven twenty five, this is four fifty… eight and seven… shit, and the littles.)

They look to their pocket and sigh deeply. “Gon be stealin li’l bits o y food gen, sorry. I’ll ge y sumthin good… thhhhhh… tu weeks, opefully.” (Going to be stealing little bits of your food again. I’ll get you something good… *thinking sound*… two weeks, hopefully.)

They reach a Kantonian takeaway restaurant with all visible lights off. They move their hand to another pocket and grab a key to unlock the door. Once inside and having locked the door, they visibly relax. “I’ll fix y a bowl n go to bed, yeah?” (I’ll fix you a bowl and go to bed, yeah?)

They go behind the counter and make their way toward a set of stairs tucked away from the restaurant’s workings. A click followed by buzzing is audible but they pay it no mind. As they venture up the first few steps, they’re yanked down and into the wall opposite the stairwell. The food bag’s been ripped open and the heal ball previously in their pocket rolls across the floor. They pull themselves up as quick as they can, one hand cupping the back of their head as the other holds a key under their index finger and points it to their assailant. They take rushed yet shaky steps back till they reenter the front of the building. The R emblazoned on the man’s jumper draws nearer until pov can try slash at them, successfully catching their cheek but earning a backhand and punch to the face in turn. As they recover and rub their nose with the back of their attacking hand, they yell at the grunt.

“D y ijits ner tok t yother?! I’ve bin ere a fockin’ month aready, paid tu diffren gruns, an y still fockin’—!” (Do you idiots never talk to each other?! I’ve been here a fucking month already, paid two different grunts, and you still fucking—!)

The man kicks their chest faster than they can react. Then watches them slide down the window onto the floor. Then smiles.

“Right, the tenant. There’s been a change in the agreement — to keep it mutually beneficial, ‘course. Rent’s been doubled and you’re to pay me directly. Starting tonight. Or else.”

He kneels over them and reaches for his pocket.

A red flash from the corridor blinds the whole screen. When it fades, the man stands up and approaches the source. From the pov’s angle the grunt is obscured by the shop’s counter as a faint blue light from within the shop grows brighter.

A guttural roar emerges from the darkness as the man is thrown over the counter, landing in front of No Name on the edge of a chair. He limply slides off it, thudding onto the floor, his head close to their feet. He gets a second to feel his pain before his attacker jumps on top of him from behind the counter. A toxtricity, it’s indigo and blue skin more saturated than others of its kind. It’s hands pressing down on his shoulders, it’s feet between his legs, it’s face hovers above the grunt’s head.

For a second, the toxtricity’s eyes meet No Name’s with slight apprehension. No Name starts to laugh.

“Atta lad, Ramohm. Than y.” (Atta lad, Ramohm. Thank you.)

Ramohm smiles as his tongue lolls out, allowing his saliva to drip onto the man’s face. The man winces and writhes, his voice unable to do more than groan. No Name pushes themselves up. Ramohm leans back so they can lean over him instead.

“Wouldn le tha stay on y too long, mate. Poten stuv.” (Wouldn’t let that stay on you for too long, mate. Potent stuff.)

They wipe it away with their thumb, the key still in their hand gliding across the man’s face in the process, leaving a smudge of blood in the saliva’s place. The angle their hand is at, their fingers are all scarred with injuries that travel along the whole underside of their hand.

“Muechully beneficial… we’re gun need sum thins, ain we, Ramohm?” (Mutually beneficial… We’re going to need some things, aren’t we, Ramohm?)

Ramohm looks back up to them with a smile and licks his lips.

[The file ends there.]

[milfclaw]

today i am tweny five :o)

[teenyweenyeenymeeny]

realy. weird !! tht I wll b an adult [n tweny five days] don think wll ever b a big kid really !!!!!

[sfaira]

I am a little unsure whether users before me are from post-soviet countries and simply like the posters or just communism - romanticising Americans, but as a Pole who has Russia waging WAR right across my country's border, fueled by dreams of rebuilding the big Empire I am a little worried by the pushback on people pointing out it's state propaganda posters.

Advertising hiking and no alcohol is cool, and can be also an element of building the picture of better, healthier and happier citizen of the Soviet Union, these two coexist. The same way Nazi regime advertised physical fitness. Physical fitness is good for you! Physical fitness as a way of keeping your citizens believing they're part of a better nation is propaganda.

I love vintage posters and propaganda posters as well - I love their composition, style and technical skill of the artists. (Also as a non-drinker I'd hang the niet poster in my house). But please, don't fall for what they're intended to do - make you believe Soviet Russia was a happy utopian land where everything worked because of communism.

It requires one google search that the campaign against alcohol did go with closures and forbidding of alcohol sales and that it was conducted because alcoholism and drinking were always very strong in soviet countries. It wasn't a happy health campaign, but an unsuccesful move against country wide problem!

Also you need to remeber in soviet countries there wasn't tweny five different brands of every product. Often there was only one of a thing or little options. There was no need to specify brand if there was no choice of brand.

Please, people, we already went through this, if you're to fall for propaganda at least fall for new one, not the one we have widely documented.

love those old soviet posters that are just advertising like, an activity. not some “go to mike’s hardware for the BEST deals around!” just “hey, you can learn stuff at libraries” or “consider going for a hike in the countryside” big kin

[hclyrevivals]

ღ * ➜ (  chris briney , cismale , tweny-five , he/him ) it seems like chandler bing might be making a new home in mystic, connecticut. a canon character from friends , chandler was seen walking down main street. while they arrived one week ago , they do not believe they have been here their whole lives.

❀ ˚ ↬ full name : chandler muriel bing

❀ ˚ ↬ relationships : n/a

❀ ˚ ↬ sexuality : heterosexual

❀ ˚ ↬ shipping : closed, monica geller

❀ ˚ ↬ occupation : n/a yet